The Diving Lesson

I don’t think I can touch the bottom. I scuttle back and
peer down fretting, cowardly toes clenched crab-like on the jetty.
What if there’s a lurking shark or jelly fish?
I wish I was braver. Then you wave from the sea and I feel safer.
Lean forward and bend your knees. Now,
tuck your head below your arms. You show me how. Again.
I tell a clever joke which makes you chuckle and
forget for a second what a clucking chicken I am.
You nod and I reach out, swallow and shuffle.
Your arms are held straight, strong shoulders squared.
You just have to jump, I’m right here.
I squeeze my eyes shut and when I burst through the surface gasping for air
you’re there.
You cheer, hold me firm, lift me up,
and as the salt water stings my eyes, I know that this is love.